


Oh, For a Grecian Urn

by zaticon1



Category: Emetophilia - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:30:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaticon1/pseuds/zaticon1
Summary: A nauseated beauty ponders her plight.





	Oh, For a Grecian Urn

Oh, For a Grecian Urn

Thou, soon deflowered bride of queasiness  
Thou goddess washed in nausea sublime  
Sal’vating golden child who shall soon express  
A flowing torrent of the sweetest chyme  
What strong sensation swells within thy shape  
What quantities of morsels and of broth,  
Do seethe within the chambers of milady?  
What pan or bowl to use, what heavy cloth?  
What do we have to hold what doth escape?  
What pipes and basins are there here to see?

Hard though it be, my sweet, there’s none at hand  
My darling, therefore, let the storm come on;

Fair head between your knees, go on and heave  
Thy gift for ever with me please do share  
Ill lover, o’eer and over shall I kiss  
While splashingly the floor you wet as you relieve  
You cannot stop, oh joy, oh tender bliss,  
Forever wilt thy magic fill the air  
Ah, many, heavy waves! Around us spread,  
Your heaves, oh may they never bid adieu;  
And lovely, golden lass, unwearied,  
For ever flowing waves for ever new;  
More queasy love! More sexy, queasy love!

Now empty warm and ripe to be enjoy’d,  
Softy panting and with searching tongue;  
I plunge my human passion from above,  
It finds a chamber glad to be enjoyed  
A beaded forehead and a pungent tongue  
Oh, thank thee darling for thy sacrifice.  
Oh, dear green maiden, O mistress of the feast,  
Lie with me now with face raised to the skies,  
All gripping thighs and chunks upon your breast.

What tossing boat on river, sea or fiord,  
Or mountain road with curves conceived in Hell,  
Could empty you of more, this glorious morn?  
And, little one, I’m yours forever more  
I’ll loyal be as you can plainly tell  
And worship all that you can e’er return.

I’ll stretch your shape. with gratitude, with bread  
In marble stalls my maid I’ll overfeed,  
In forest groves we’ll create sodden weed,  
Thou, sickly fawn, dost toss out all you’ve got  
And doth retch mightily; Throw Up It All!

When all you held within you’s gone to waste,  
We shall remain, and different fluids throw  
Than yours, all from this man, with whom you lay’st,  
Booty is truth, truth booty,- cast your love  
upon the earth, yes boldly, maiden, throw.


End file.
